


The Gay Version of Grumpy Old Men

by It_MightBe_Love



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/It_MightBe_Love/pseuds/It_MightBe_Love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had to go through a lot of bullshit as kids to get to this point but what matters is that they are together and happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a post I saw on tumblr and then I started expanding the universe, and then I realized that i'd never posted it on AO3. So... here it is. Loosely beta'd because that's how I roll.

Mickey does not age gracefully. He looks every bit his sixty-three years, unlike Ian who at a few years younger, carries his age the way all Gallagher men do. Which is to say a great deal better than Mickey.

It’s not really a point of contention between them of course, they live in a nice neighborhood in Hawaii and spend most of their time on the front porch. Back when they had first purchased it it had been little more than a rundown bungalow at the end of a long tree lined street. Fiona gave them a hard time about it but in the end she was happy for them. The neighborhood was several miles out from the base Ian was stationed at and maybe a ten minute walk from the beach where Mickey had taught himself to surf.

None of that is particularly important though, not with Debbie’s kids running across the yard screaming, or Fiona’s youngest grandkids, or even their own grandkids running around.

Ian has always been the most vocal about loving it on the big Island. Mickey keeps his mouth shut, a holdover from another life. Its only on days like today, sitting on the front porch with his cane by his knee and a beer in one hand that he lets himself be the doting grandpa Ian teases him about.

He reaches over and hits the switch for the sprinkler and guffaws when the kids all start squealing. Ian nudges him with a hip, leaning against the doorjam, “Debbie’s gonna kill you for getting them wound up before dinner.”

Mickey snorts, “Debbie can suck it. I'm old I can do what I want with this screaming brood.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very vague reference to Hawaii Five 0. If you squint.

There are a handful of years between seventeen and twenty-two where Mickey and Ian only see each other in bursts. Bouts of activity that revolve around Southside and Mickey’s family and the Gallagher’s and the typical drama that comes from living in a shitty neighborhood full of shitty, prejudiced people.

Ian comes back taller, broader with tattoos that are in other languages and new scars that stretch, taut and shiny on his sun darkened skin. He moves with an economy of grace one would ascribe to a predator. Something dangerous and desirable.

Mickey avoids him like the fucking plague because Mickey can’t let himself get sucked back into the heat of Ian’s universe. (He fails at this, like he fails at most everything but, in twenty years when someone reminds him of it, he’ll laugh because he worked his ass off to finally get what he wanted and no way will he ever regret saying yes to Ian fucking Gallagher).

What happens is this- they run into each other at the Kash and Grab and for several minutes it’s like time freezes. Mickey isn’t much short than Ian, never really had been and they are both neither small men. But Ian takes up space now in a way that he didn’t used to and Mickey has learned to occupy less space, (an act of self-preservation now in the face of his father and brothers).

Ian takes a step forward, his mouth exhaling a soft, “Mick-” And then everything is shot into fast-forward and they are both naked on Ian’s childhood bed, gruntfucking in a filthy, desperate kind of way and Mickey absolutely cannot even begin to fathom how it happened.

(Mickey works on cars these days because he’s good with his hands, possessed of clever fingers and a sly mind, because cars are easy. The literature is more difficult but two years of struggling to prove he could be more than the good for nothing hood rat his father was sure he’d become has given Mickey the sort of obstinate nature unseen of in Milkovich men for a long time).

Somewhere between the first time and the tenth Ian has his hands curled up hangrope tight around Mickey’s heart. Hard enough that breathing hurts and so good his skin aches with it.

(There is trouble of course, Terry Milkovich is not a man who loses well and Mickey and Ian are not careful this time. Both older, scarred, maybe a little stronger. They touch freely in the street. Ian with the easy confidence that comes from years of intense military training and Mickey, sure in the knowledge that he *can* because Ian will protect him).

Fiona looks at him once over breakfast dishes and only the once in this way and she nudges him and says, “Trust is bigger than I love you, yeah?” And Mickey nods. It is profound in a way unfamiliar to Mickey but it resonates in him the way his ma’s singing used to.

Terry is hateful, it takes three tries before he gets Ian alone, because he is so often surrounded by friends or family these days. After years of separation none who knew the man are keen on being gone from his side for long.

Terry comes out of the endeavor with three fractured ribs, a broken jaw and without the use of his left hand. Ian has a single bruise, high on his cheek and little else.

(They leave Chicago. The Gallagher’s and Mickey. Fiona has employment in Hawaii on the big island. Pleased with herself and the pay. The others excited at the prospect of wide open skies and good weather. They sell the house. They don’t get much but it’s a security for a family who have so little).

Ian ends up in California with Mickey. Military housing and Mickey bartending on weeknights and fixing cars in the early morning. Somewhere in here they adopt a dog. An ugly french bulldog that Mickey is fiercely protective of, whom he calls ‘Pooch’.

(Ian’s platoon all love the shit out of Mickey. He’s charming and fresh and he doesn’t take shit from anyone. Ian is mostly just glad that Mickey seems to like them well enough in return. His commanding officer invites them to a family barbecue at his house on Saturday and after that it becomes a regular thing).

What happens is this - Ian gets sent out on some secret ops thing. It’s long and awful and he can’t communicate with Mickey. News comes back Ian’s plane was taken out over Pakistan or some place with a name that has too many consonants. Mickey is twenty-seven. The survivor’s money stays in the bank and Mickey packs up the house and flies out to Hawaii where he spends all his time on the back porch smoking with Debbie.

It’s Christmas, and several months later when there is a sharp rap on the door. (Mickey has bought out the local garage down the street, he turns a good business, is friends with the locals and he can smile without his chest aching now. He is learning to surf).

Mickey is upstairs harassing Debbie about her boyfriend, Lip is visiting from the mainland with his newest flavor of the month. Carl and Liam are playing poker at the kitchen table, when Fiona answers the door she isn’t expecting Ian to be standing there. Sheepish and bruised, arm in a sling, dressed in his BDUs and *alive*.

(Christmas dinner is ruined that year, in the fuss Fiona and Mickey forget they left the pies and bird in the oven. Ian comes out of the occasion with a black eye and a new appreciation for telephones. They get dinner at a local diner).

Ian is subdued mostly, happy but, “I liked California. Did you really have to move out here?”

Mickey kicks him, “Shut the fuck up. You were *dead* What was I supposed to do? Not come to the only family I had left?”

Ian clears his throat, “I’m getting permanently reassigned here.” Is his response and then, “I’m being offered a job within the police force.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, “That’s some real slick tv show shit you’re spillin’ there Gallagher.”

Ian’s laugh is rough and he grips Mickey’s hand tightly, “I’m sorry. I… when I got out I was in the hospital for a couple months. It was touch and go. Nobody even knew I was American military til I woke up and then…” he swallowed, “It’s a lot of paperwork coming back from the dead.”

Mickey nods, “You better not be planning on droppin’ dead again anytime soon.”

(The bungalow, when they buy it is at the end of a long tree lined street. it overlooks the bluffs, is a short walk from Fiona’s and perfect. The hurricane shutters are hanging by their last screws but it’s solidly built. Mickey won’t tell Ian how much he loves it, but the care he puts into restoring it tell Ian all he needs to know. When it’s finished it’s a beautiful three bedroom bungalow with two bathrooms and a wide wrap around front porch.

The swing is a gift from Lip. Mickey spends most of his downtime there or at the beach most days).

“You ever think we’d get here?” Ian asks him one day, settled into the easy comfortability of a man just turned thirty-two.

Mickey rolls his shoulders and swings his legs around so he can lean companionably against Ian’s chest, “Nah. I figured I’d be dead or married to some woman back in Chicago and you’d have a white picket fence and two point five Gallagher brats running around.”

“Well… Lip’s oldest just turned two and Debbie’s pregnant by that attorney boyfriend of hers.”

Mickey makes a face, flounders for the bottle of beer collecting condensation from the porch and takes a long drink, “You sayin’ you wanna add to the brood?” His voice is a little tight, eyes focused on the bluffs below. He can see where the waves crash up against the shoreline, make out the boats out at sea and the surfers closer inland and-

Ian’s mouth is a punctuation mark against the sensitive skin behind his ear, breath a gust of sea sharp air into the tender shell, “Yeah… give Pooch some kids to chase around. Give my airmen something to talk about that isn’t your ass.”

“It’s a good ass. Want they should talk about my dick?”

Ian hides his laugh in Mickey’s neck, “Not particularly. So what do you think?”

“About my dick? or kids? You gotta be clear about the delineation of conversation here Gallagher or I’ll start gettin’ ideas.”

Ian digs his fingers into Mickey’s ribs and listens to him choke on another swallow of beer, “Kids you shit.”

“I ain’t against the idea.” he says amiably, “Always wanted a little girl.” Maybe a boy too. The idea of children isn’t one Mickey’s ever given much thought too. He’s gay after all. But times are a changin’ apparently and he’s realized these days pretty much anything that makes Ian happy, makes Mickey happy by proxy.

Ian nods, “So… okay that’s settled then.”

They listen to the wind blow warm over them, inhale the sweet scent of ocean water and hibiscus and watch the tide come in over the bluffs.


End file.
